


one beat after another

by Izzerslololol



Series: Mereel and the Galaxy [10]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Clone Wars, Drabble Collection, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-20 09:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzerslololol/pseuds/Izzerslololol
Summary: Action shots and short, brief, snippets of a working man in galaxy gone to haran in a hand-basket.Alternatively, glimpses in the day to day of ARC Lieutenant Null-7, Mereel Skirata. As they say in the GAR, it's a whole lot of hurry up and wait. Other characters listed in the chapter titles for ease of navigation.





	1. a little affection goes a long way, ft. Ordo

For whatever reason, it’s always raining when they’re stranded. “Just an observation,” tacked on to the end of the statement, just to cover all his bases. But at least he’s found them decent cover, this time. Some hole in the wall safe house that’s actually safe, for once.

One out of seven even after his cover’s blown is not bad. Even after he brought down an entire city block. Let’s not count casualties right now, but let’s just say he’s winning by a long shot.

Not that it’s a competition.

Mereel’s _just_ a little strung out, to say the least, because _fierfek_ if that op wasn’t a long one only to end in—well, in hindsight, everything going to hell seemed like a natural end to events, actually—and why the hell is Ordo even here?

“Ord—”

Cut off, cut short, by the kiss to his lips, and the shove down to the sleep mat. His bruised back hits less—than soft surface and he lays there, stunned—and speechless.

“Didn’t I say be careful?”

“…yes.”

“And were you?”

Mereel doesn’t have to answer that question. He’s going to, but he does not have to.

“No.”

Ordo’s face definitely crossed into inscrutable—exactly the territory Mereel did not like, exactly the face he could not justify being his fault for his brother to make. But he got the feeling nothing he said could really, truly, make it better. So, instead, he reached out to hook his fingers in the crook of Ordo’s bent elbow, tugging gently.

An old memory surfaced—bubbled up from the deep, carefully folded and tucked away from what felt like a lifetime ago. And maybe, in a way, it was. Too young, too young to understand, too young for disagreements, reaching out for comfort, to comfort, in the only way he knew how.

“But Ordo,” he whispered. “I _won_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I don't ship Ordo and Mereel ... but, I also feel that the Nulls' concepts of boundaries are not ... as firm as those that you or I would hold. That said, this was for a drabble prompt requested by a mun who writes the Ordo to my Mereel.
> 
> And the prompt was: " for my muses reaction to your muse randomly kissing them "


	2. boring conversation anyway, Ordo

“It’s just that simple, is it?” A voice, hard.  
  
“Yes.” Mereel stretched his legs out, the thick soles of his boots coming to rest on the top of the bolted-down table loud in the tight space. All things considered, he thought the op went pretty well. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”  
  
Ordo strode through the communal space and, in one smooth motion, swiped Mereel’s feet off the table.   
  
“No.” His brother stared down at him, face drained of color, one fist balled tight and knuckles stressed whited at one side. The other moved through the air, expressed his anger in one sharp horizontal cut. “ _Kal’buir_ —”  
  
Mereel’s chest smashed against his brother’s before he even registered standing up.   
  
“Stop right there.” The anger flooded him in waves, lapped at the base of his skull and threatened to drown him from the inside out.  
  
“You almost died.” Ordo looked lost. Like he didn’t know what to say, and had to fall back on stating the obvious. “Unnecessary risk. For what?”  
  
Mereel could feel the smile affixed to his still-pretty face. Everything was fine. It was a good day.  
  
It _was_ a pretty good day. No casualties. How many ops went that way?  
  
“I feel pretty spry for an _almost dead_ guy,” he dipped his head to the side and chuckled. The laugh faded. “I saw an opportunity. Took it.”  
  
” _‘Reel_ —”  
  
“I’m not having this conversation again.” He took a step back. Something in him sorely noted the space between them, but he still felt raw. Still angry.

Had it been anyone else in front of him, _anyone else_ , he would have laid them out flat. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was his brother. And he hated feeling angry with his brothers. _Any_ of his brothers, but especially Ordo.  
  
Turning his back on his brother was a risk. _Always with the risks_ , he heard in his head, in a voice that closely mirrored his own. Not that it mattered—he didn’t catch any resistance on the way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "war: our muses arguing." 
> 
> We don't often see these two arguing ... at least, not with the kind of vitriol that can come in the moments just after not-dying.


	3. right call, left hook, ft. Ordo and unnamed RC Sgt. (oc)

The _clack_ of armor against armor dragged him around the corner and through a door.

“Hey…”

“You’re just some big—”

“Stand down Sergeant—”

“What’s going on in here?” His question fell on deaf ears.

“Just because you’re some Null—”

“You want to repeat that?”

“ _Hey!_ ” Two quick strides broke the fight before it started, separating the Commando and Ordo with his body. Mereel’s gauntlet pushed back on solid white plating, while his other elbow _shoved_ Ordo back. “If you have a problem, take it up with me.”

“‘Reel—”

“You send in your sidekick to fight your battles?”

Ordo stilled, one fist balled tight at his side with knuckles white and knobbed.

“Technically it’s _my_ battle,” Mereel ammended before Ordo could open his big mouth. “Seeing as I’m the one who gave the order.”

It was a blatant lie, and the only one who knew it was Ordo.

The commando pulled his rage back from over Mereel’s shoulder and pinpointed it on the space between his eyes. “Why would you…”

“It was the only right choice.”

Mereel had no way of knowing if that was true, but his unshakeable faith in his brother’s decisions on the field had yet to lead him astray.

The commando’s eyes narrowed.

He could feel Ordo’s eyes on the back of his neck, where the small hairs stood at attention.

The Sergeant’s fists clenched. Loosened. Clenched again.

_Crack._

White pain exploded behind his eyes from the left side of his face. Drops of red splattered in a neat pattern straight to his right across the floor.

He feigned needing the support to stand and hooked his hand in Ordo’s collar to hold him in place behind him. He could feel the cold fury ripple under his hand.

“I deserved that,” Mereel laughed through a mouth filled with copper, his free hand tight on his chin and tested his jaw. _Not broken. That’s good_.

“ _Lek._ ”  _Yeah._ The commando spat past his ear. “Court martial me. I’ll do it again.”

Ordo pushed forward. “I’ll do more than—”

“You’re dismissed,” Mereel interjected. “Get out of here. _Jii._ ” _Now._

The commando turned on his heel and marched out of the debrief room.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Ordo jerked out from his grip.

“Maybe not,” Mereel shrugged as he looked at his brother, one hand still pinched over his chin. That smack hurt. “But you’re still pretty.”

The tell-tale sign of agitation in Ordo’s jaw stood out clear against the blank look on his face. The one clenched fist at his side eased open.

“Don’t do that again.”

Mereel thought about it.

“No promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the prompt: "Hector : my character fights in the place of yours / for your sake."
> 
> Good job Mereel. Took a solid one to the face for the team.


	4. behind door number 3, ft. Ordo and RC Sgt. Beten

“Oh, Mereel.”  
“How’s that?”  
” _Shab._ Don’t stop.”  
“Ah… Harder?”  
“Yes. _‘Lek._ ”

Ordo never bought into the rumors that Mereel poached ladies from the other men. He knew his brother, knew he had a soft spot for all of the _vode_ in the GAR—even the ARCs, which Ordo couldn’t quite wrap his head around. To poach a lady from a _vod_ was tantamount to harming himself. A taken lady wasn’t on the market, and Mereel was far from picky—his words on the matter.

“ _Ord’ika_ ,” Mereel had responded the one time he’d thought to ask, after he’d overheard his brother flirting with Besany. “A brother’s lady is my sister until the moment they separate, if they ever do. It’s tantamount to shacking up with another brother. And I’m not looking to… interact with my family. In that way.”

He had taken on a contemplative look, one Ordo usually only saw when Mereel mentally ran through risk assessment during an operation, and usually followed through with a calculated and dangerous stunt. “I’m not that narcissistic,” Mereel amended with a smile that dimpled his cheeks and squinted his eyes. “I’m going to speak to zero-eight’s Bravo Squad sergeant. See you later.”

And that’s how Ordo found himself standing outside closed doors in the barracks, following his bad feeling in the effort to protect his brother from whatever bad idea he’s gotten into his head, and looking for an unfamiliar commando squad sergeant. And instead finding his brother. And the Sergeant. In the same room behind closed doors.

“You know they have droids for this?”  
“Don’t. Ah. I won fair and square.”  
“Yes you did.”  
“This is better than I th—oh. Oh.”  
“Haha.”

And the noises.

The poor sergeant had recently been discharged from the GAR med-center on the same block, after his squad took heavy fire on a satellite Mereel had recon’d for them. He imagined his brother had felt personal responsibility for the squad’s mission going south. But this…

It was worse than what the rumors suggested. He wouldn’t poach another lady, but he’d… with a _vod_? Ordo debated against knocking on the door—this was one of those things he didn’t need nor want to confirm. Instead, he wanted to walk away, maybe forget the moment. Which, of course, wouldn’t be possible—all the Nulls had eidetic memory.

Mereel said he wasn’t that narcissistic, right? But Ordo didn’t know how to quantify the sounds behind the door.

“Almost done.”  
“O-okay.”  
“Next time order a droid.”  
“They don’t… ah, listen. You know how I feel about them.”

Ordo keyed in the code to the door panel. It cycled open to two men who looked a lot like him, one of them naked from the waist up with the rest of him hidden underneath a sheet, face down. Mereel sat slightly off to the side, kneading the sergeant’s arm. Raised white scars, still weeping, crossed the limb, with one long continuous gash that indicated he’d nearly lost the arm from just above the elbow. Or he did, and the medics had managed to re-attach it.

A sudden blast of heat hit Ordo full in the face. The room felt like a sauna.

“Hmm? Oh, _Ord’ika,_ ” Mereel greeted and climbed from the chair beside the commando’s cot, wiping his hands down on a cream-colored towel. The Sergeant had his face buried in a pillow specifically designed to hold his head comfortably, face down. A bottle of medicinal lotion sat on the bedside table. “Do you ne—”

“I’ll come back later.”

Ordo turned on his heel and walked away. He needed to find Kal’buir, and have a greasy lunch. Or a slice of uj-cake. Maybe all of the above, at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE lmao it's just a massage B)
> 
> The prompt was " (you’re the) devil in disguise : my character discovers something terrible about yours " but I couldn't pass up the chance to pull this gag.


	5. back before we know it, ft. Ordo

“Aww, _Ord'ika_. You’re not going to _miss_ me, are you?”

Ordo bristled. “I’m just—”

“I promise to bring back a souvenir.”

“—concerned. Intel warns it’s getting _hot_ in Lianna.”

“I thought _we were_ the intel.” Mereel paused in his ministrations, hands frozen over the dashboard of the small stealth-class transport Prudii had liberated from a tiny planet off the border of the galaxy’s core. He hadn’t imagined it, then. _He’s worried._ He flexed his fingers, stretched them out and parallel to the surface of blinking lights, and curled them into loose fists in his lap.

The pilot’s seat creaked. He threw an open, innocent, child-like smile over his shoulder.

“ _Jatnese be te jatnese_ , remember? Best of the best. If anyone’s going to succeed, it’ll be me.” He rolled the thought over his tongue, and added: “And Kom'rk will be there.”

“For two days.” Mereel noted the clenched fist hanging at Ordo’s side. “Then you’ll be on your own.”

“So?” The smile faltered as he stood, but it recovered when he reached full height. He crossed his arms, a full two inches shorter than his brother without the armor on, and leaned in past the boundary of what _Kal'buir_ had referred to as personal space.

The deepened worry-lines around the eyes and forehead made Ordo appear years older than he was. Mereel regretted that he put them there. But missions were missions, and he could not— _would not_ —refuse them. Not if it meant putting another brother, however distantly related, on the line.

Ordo understood, but with the distress written clear on his face… Well. The reality of the situation became hard to ignore.

“I know the _real_ reason you’re here.”

The two of them had spent the entirety of their short lives within a stone’s throw from each other. And suddenly, come evening, Mereel would find himself deep in hyperspace and well on his way to a different planet at the opposite end of the galaxy. _Beyond reach if either of us need it._

“Mer'ika,” Ordo warned.

Separation remained a sensitive issue for his brother, Mereel knew that better than anyone, but he couldn’t help himself—he had to prod the vulnerability, and then deflect from the issue. Hopefully, in doing so, he eased Ordo’s troubles.

_And he doesn’t lay me out flat in the process._ But that risk came with the territory.

“I know it’s hard enough for you to compete with my thrilling heroics when we’re together, but you’re doing a terrible job playing as stowaway by talking to me first.”

“Stowaway?” Ordo’s frown deepened. Not the reaction he aimed for.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Mereel scrambled to recover. “Hiding on my ship, ready to slip out and steal the spotlight out from under me the moment we land?”

Ordo’s eyes narrowed and returned Mereel’s scrutiny. So he waited, patient, counting the timed beeps of the nav-console’s chrono. Some discomfort arose, but he’d grown so used to his brother’s scrutiny that it only _just_ dawned on him that he would miss it when he left.

“ _Your_ ship?” Ordo finally snorted, and some of the worry-lines smoothed away. _Good._

“Yes, _my_ ship. You may be our _urakto_ leader, but Prudii loves me more.” Mereel grinned.

“Difficult leader? You _di'kut_ …” Ordo released his exasperation in a slow, controlled exhale through his nostrils. Then he reached out and gripped his brother firmly by the shoulder. _“K'oyacyi.”_

Mereel grasped his brother one handed by the crux of his neck and drew him down to bump foreheads. He half expected him to pull away, but instead met with compliance… and quickly overwhelmed by a tide of pure emotion that tightened his chest and settled in the hollow of his throat.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he rasped. His eyes moistened. He blinked them clear. “I’ll be expecting a _Yaim'ol_ party, of course. Complete with _uj'alayi_.”

Ordo’s free hand smacked him soft twice against his cheek and came to rest at the crook of his shoulder.

“Now you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A combination of two prompts, this time.
> 
> Farewell: my muse leaving yours   
> Hush: my muse trying to calm and quiet yours


	6. pillow time with Ordo

How many days of traveling led up to this moment?

The blessed cross between peace and quiet and learning how to sleep again, after running into the ground over too many cups of caf and operators operating high. He finds his legs can’t quite get him there, but Ordo’s beside him and with their arms around each other somehow—somehow—they manage to make it to the one cot on the cramped shuttle set for Wild Space.

“Don’t tell Besany I’m using you as a pillow,” Mereel mumbles on the gradual crumble of the both of them onto the old mattress. There’s barely enough room, but somehow they manage. “She’ll get jealous and gut me.”

He tries not to wince at the elbow jamming into the bandage around his ribs but it’s a failed venture. Sorry, Ordo whispers, in no better shape than him though at least his stitches are holding better under duress.

“Shut up,” Ordo whispers, arm pulling tight around Mereel’s waist and he can already feel the sleep, precious sleep, pulling in. “Don’t make me think of something clever to say.”

“S’ok … ‘m clever enough for the both of us,” Mereel hums, eyes closed as he feels Ordo pull what ragged cover they have over them.

And before it even reaches his shoulder, he’s out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt: sharing a bed


	7. grand gestures, ft. Ordo/Besany

Counting to ten never seemed to help calm nerves. Reassurance often met with: “Yes, but…,” and could only be followed by platitudes, usually..

Mereel prided himself on his ability to avoid platitudes—or, at least, when dealing honestly with _vode._

“You’re missing the point of this gesture, brother.” His hands found the loose knot of red just under the crux of Ordo’s throat and gently pulled it taut.

“I’m telling you: I did run the calculations.” Ordo frowned in his way, one hand half balled at his side—not quite full-on angry, but frustration palpable up his arms and into his shoulders and neck. “There’s no way this is going to work.”

“It’s not about working,” Mereel tsked as he adjusted the collar. “It’s about expending effort to make an extravagant gesture meant solely for her benefit. Whether it works or not is only an additional bonus.”

On the last word he carefully stepped back—still remaining within tight, personal space of his brother. Ordo didn’t seem to mind—he rarely called attention to it, even. Instead, he touched his own tie, frowning in the general direction of down.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I only have good ideas.” Mereel opened his arms and gave his most convincing smile yet. “And if worst comes to worst, you can always say I put you up to it.”

At that, Ordo let out a sharp huff through his nostrils. “You always do.”

“Put him up to what?”

Mereel craned his head to watch the lovely woman whom stole his brother’s affections walk with careful steps into the room.

“Only the most exciting hiking opportunities,” he smoothed, letting his eyes shine with clear admiration to her figure as a means of distract. Judging from the compression of her lips, it worked. “You’re looking lovely, by the way.”

“As you say, every time…” Her critical eyes flickered from him to Ordo, the creases at the corners softening the longer she lingered on the latter.

“Mereel…” Ordo started.

“Ah, don’t mind me, I was just leaving.” A soft stab of jealousy rang up his breastbone, but he let it go in favor of stepping aside and humming pleasantly: “Enjoy your evening" 

He showed himself out before anyone could think to stop him.  
  


  
And, funny enough, grand gestures did make positive impressions, even if they had to be amended with  _Mereel put me up to it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I'm telling you: I did the calculations, and there's no way this is going to work."


	8. aim to misbehave, ft Ordo

Seated on the bench at the far wall, Mereel watched Ordo pace the bars.

“C’mon, it’s not  _that_ b—”

The  _look_ leveled on him stopped his words in their tracks.

“ _Mir’sheb_.”

Mereel pressed a hand to his chest. “That wounds me.”

"You just _had_ t—”

"—I already said I was _sorry_.”

"How hard is it to keep it in your pants?” He throws his hands up and looks at the ceiling. “ _It’s not that hard Mereel._ ”

Mereel snorted, one fist pressed to his mouth.

Ordo scowled. “Don’t you dare.”

Too bad. He dared.

"… _yes it was._ ”

Ordo clenched a fist at his side. “When we get out of here, I’m going to kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short fill for prompt: Jailbait


	9. bad calls and close influences, Ordo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is pre-Clone Wars, on Kamino.

He’d gotten lost somewhere along the way.

Having memorized the intricate web of ventilation shafts that filled the skeleton walls of Tipoca City, that proved a problem—the map was incomplete. And incomplete meant that the vents off the map remained unserviced by the maintenance group that kept the city running, droids and _Kaminiise_ alike.

Him and his brothers used the shafts to travel unnoticed—at least, for as long as they can until they outgrow them. They still had years before that happened.

Mereel had argued the importance of completing the map for the benefit of their own safety, and while his null brothers hadn’t _disagreed_ outright, it placed low on the priority list of Things Needing To Be Rectified.

He crept in the vents and followed the ping of Ordo’s suit just ahead of him to the next location… somewhere in the lodging for the upper-class Kaminoans, and oh, wasn’t that interesting.

_What are we doing here, Ordo?_ There was an unspoken rule that the Nulls didn’t go snooping in the higher security sections where the Kaminoans dwelt.

“Part of the old Tipoca Mainframe can be accessed here, and there’s a trail to the flooded cities.” Ordo stopped ahead of him, _kama_ dragging the dust against his legs.

“Want me to grab it?”

He could practically hear Ordo considering the options with the way his breathing changed in the helmet. It was a very slight, subtle length of inhale versus exhale, but Mereel had grown to pay attention to even the minutest changes in his brothers.

“You keep watch.”

The incident that came to define his existence was barely a year fresh in his mind, and even though Kal swore he’d protect them, Mereel wouldn’t let a brother go alone.

But Ordo asked, so he would stay. Even if that meant he had to hold still in the tight, confined, space inside the walls—something in his genetics that pointed to an intense dislike for small spaces. But the discomfort kept him sharp, awake, and watchful.

He watched Ordo’s view through the miniature window of his HUD as Ordo scraped his gloves along the bottom of the vent, pulled loose a long square of metal, and moved it aside. Then he pulled up a ceiling tile, and dropped down into one of the rooms below.

Ordo plugged into a concealed port inside the wall, and Mereel looked away. He flipped his thermal cam, and noted a slim, warm, body that glided their way down the hall.

“Possible incoming.”

“Almost done.”

Mereel counted the steps. “What’s taking you?”

“Wiping the data. _Kaminiise_ don’t access them, and they don’t need to know we can.”

“Ten seconds,” Mereel warned and edged up to the hole in the vent. He peered down in time to see Ordo reach up, and he grabbed his brother to haul him back into the ceiling. They replaced the tile, then the vent cover, just as the door to the room cycled open.

They froze, holding still as the Kaminoan below them paced the room, retrieving something from a chest, and then exiting.

“ _Kandosii,_ ” Mereel laughed in the safety of his helmet. “That was close.”

“You’re a bad influence,” Ordo sighed. “Now let’s go find these old tunnels.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: O Hal : I will write about our characters doing something rebellious together.


	10. airtime, ft. Jaing and Kom'rk

The luxury of being an operative with an allowance of freedom … well.

He felt it in the adrenaline pulsed in his veins, humming soft the song of potential doom and death that lingered with one wrong move. One wrong placement.

One misstep.

It was as close as a clone soldier like him could be to free.

Scaling the cliff-face of an unnamed planet off the skirted edge of the Outer Rim, taken over in the hike with extreme prejudice to give ARCs N-06 and N-10 a break.

They deserved some downtime, and Mereel deserved some _air time._

A rumble cracked the sky above him. Checked the cliff in the distance, gusting a bright brown cloud in swirls from overhead. Another rough blast of air took him by the hooks, blown horizontal and—

—hanging by the skill of his placement, knowing the lines would hold, able to look out into the sharp cut of wind currents and see the horizon’s curved edge so far away.

His side cracked against the stone.

He bounced, twice, before his hooks could steady him again.

_Laughing_ all the while.


	11. snatch and grab with a little on the side, solo

Sometimes, missions were _easy,_ and then they were _easy easy._

This one was a little of both.

Easy, in that the only real pain to experience was the kind of cover ID that had him bowing his head, curling his spine in on himself, twitchy and confined to a damned cubicle.

Easy easy, in straightforward success was a snatch and grab with an effective cover and distraction.

Sure, he didn’t _have_ to remove certain people from their _very fortunate_ positions–from which they had, undoubtedly, earned by manipulation and brown-nosing alone, and for which they could not _actually_ manage effectively.

But hell.

Where was the fun in that?


	12. his smile runs the world, solo

His eyes sparkle as he takes her hand under his arm, into the crook of his elbow as they enter the hall.

The crowd all knows her face. The curve of her jaw, the cut of her eyes, the blond of her hair. His, as much as the media tries, never seems to capture the right angle to have him be something more than a blur.

Technology, you see, is priceless.

They dance under diamond chandeliers, over fresh waxed floors, under the glare of security droids that can’t quite recognize the scramble. No AI means they don’t quite put it together, how she dances with a smiling man that reads to their scanners with a different face every cycled capture.

No one in the room notices when they slip away.

Everyone notices them back on the floor, or chatting by the buffet, or teasing the open bar–hair slightly mussed, smoothed fabric catching the shadow in barely-there wrinkles.

On the cuff of their second disappearance, the celebration grows, blooming up and out as the climax of the system-wide party unfolds.

The war’s over and everyone’s dancing.

 

 

The next day, they find her in bed dressed in red from empty veins, and the man with a hundred faces a figment in the night.


	13. he is always bragging, solo

In the dim of summer, alone on the heart of the city, he would take the sun in his hands and hold it tight—will it to stay for longer than he could bear.

Fruitless, of course, for nothing could stem the never ending rains—not even the star of the system powerful enough to break the thick, swirling clouded atmosphere for no more than three days every year.

But he tried. Every year.

And one year, Mereel felt a soft tug in his hands. A heat he could not explain, a fire that tore into his skin and boiled his palms.

And in his shock, he fell. Tumbled, really, backwards off the edge of the building at the heart of the city.

As luck—or really, the safety drilled into him time and time again—his harness and the safety lines caught him. He swung far, and hit the building shoulder first, and hung there for a little while.

And for the rest of that year, Mereel would find reasons to brag. He would fluff his ego, and no one could argue. He was never wrong, never, not once that year.

And no one could ever figure out why.

But he knew, of course (as unbelievable as it could be).

When he opened his hands on the third day of summer, hanging by his rappelling gear, his hands were fine.

And summer lasted twice as long that year.

**Author's Note:**

> For the most part, all of these chapters are separate drabbles / responses to prompts from a mun who wrote Ordo to my Mereel. Hopefully they're not too jarring as separate pieces. 
> 
> I figure Mereel's tag could use more writing in it.


End file.
